Desperate Men Do Desperate Things
by purelydramatic
Summary: In which Angel will do anything to save his son from himself- even turn back time. But is it a price he is willing to pay? AU after Home


**Hello, all!**

** So, um…I should probably be working on It's Not Over. But good Lord, Inception is so difficult to write! I'm really trying to finish the next chapter, but it's gonna be a busy summer, so no promises.**

**Anywhoo, this idea came to me when I was supposed to be studying for finals. Haha, oh, finals. This is supposed to be an AU fic. I'm not really pleased with how this turned out, but I hope some people like it. Please?**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Angel. Joss Whedon does. And I hate him for it.**

**Warning: Here there be spoilers. And angst.**

Angel stared, distrusting, at the woman in front of him. "You guarantee that, if I kill him, his memories will be wiped and he'll have a new family?"

Lilah Morgan raised her right hand. "I swear on my life. Or, I guess, my _unlife_." She smirked at her self-directed jab. "He won't remember, they won't remember, anyone he has ever met won't remember. Except for you and me. But I'll be living in Hell, and you'll be in charge of it, so I doubt either of us will have time to spill the secret of Boy Wonder. Oh, and I'll also throw in a little something to save your friends in good old Sunnyhell."

He looked back down at the contract on the table. Did he really have a choice? Of course he wanted to save his son; the alternative was unthinkable. His mind made up, Angel prepared to sign.

"You know, there _is_ another option." A smooth, masculine voice interrupted.

Angel looked up to see the ghost of Holland Manners smiling back at him like a snake. Lilah looked startled, as if she had not expected the intrusion.

"No, there isn't. Sign now, Angel!" she snapped. But his interest had been piqued, and he signaled for Holland to continue.

"Now, of course, the method of taking away memories is perfectly acceptable. But why not go all the way back, to where your troubles first began? Wouldn't you love to prevent your son from ever going to that Hell dimension?"

Angel knew there was probably some horrible catch to that deal, but the temptation to give his son an actual childhood was too great, and he couldn't stop himself from asking "Terms?"

Holland grinned lazily. "We turn back time to a week after Connor's birth. We give you what you need to destroy Holtz and Sahjhan. The rest of your future will be up to you, and we will not interfere with it. The only ones who will be aware of the events that _were _will be those in the room during the transaction. There will be, of course, a price, but I don't believe it to be too severe."

"Done."

"No. _No_!" Lilah shook her head vehemently, looking rather frightened. "Angel, listen to me, that is NOT a price you would be willing to pay. It's- please, PLEASE, I can find another way to help Connor, just don't-"

Angel interrupted her. "Sorry, Lilah, but have you _ever_ given me a reason to trust you? I'm not about to start now." He ignored the devastated look that seemed out of place on her face. "Anyway, I have to think of everything that could be salvaged if Connor stayed a baby. Cordelia wouldn't ascend, you wouldn't die, and Jasmine would never come to Earth. Whatever the price is, it has to be worth it."

She shook her head again, this time in defeat. "You are making a mistake. And I will come and remind you of it every year, for the rest of eternity."

Undeterred by the threat, Angel turned to a pleased-looking Holland Manners, who had set down a new piece of parchment on the singular table in the room. "Where do I sign?" he asked in determination.

Without a word, the slippery lawyer pointed to a line at the very bottom, and, without hesitation, Angel signed his name with a flourish.

Just like that, the scenery began fading away, turning to mist. The two undead lawyers began fading as well. The last thing he heard was Lilah whispering, "It won't be worth it."

_Four Years Later_

He wandered through the cemetery at a casual pace, the little boy running ahead in front of him. Perhaps he should have been worried, but he knew the rest of his team would protect his son at all costs. Also, there was that curious white light that showed up whenever Connor was in any sort of danger, whether from a blood-thirsty vampire or a bumblebee. The light was more or less Connor's guardian angel, vaporizing every threat he encountered, and had been doing so ever since the boy was a week old. Cordelia had suggested that the light was a higher form of Darla, being a mother even in her afterlife. He had been dubious of the theory, and _still_ was; he just couldn't see Darla being a higher _anything_, seeing as she was definitely lacking in the soul department. However, he figured that anything or anyone that protected his son at all costs was alright in his book.

He kept walking along his path, listening as Connor waddled over to Cordelia, demanding a piggy-back ride from "Mommy". Cordelia, indeed, filled the position of mother for little Connor; he was thankful that, though still a half-demon, the strong-willed woman had not been persuaded by Skip to ascend, therefore keeping her personality safe. They had managed to meet up that night on the beach, and he, awkwardly but earnestly, proclaimed his love for her. He felt near-perfect happiness when Cordelia professed her love back. Even now, three and a half years later, they were still together.

He finally made it to his destination. He was unsurprised to see the woman there; she had come on this exact same day for the past three years as well. He came up beside her, not speaking a word; in turn, she gave a slight dip of her head, still staring down at the faded stone in front of her. They both listened to the sounds of Lorne singing to little Connor. This was the exact same ritual they had been performing for the past three years, and he knew, according to tradition, she would be breaking the silence soon.

He wasn't disappointed. "Did you visit Faith today?"

He looked up, startled; it hadn't been what he was expecting. And, come to think of it, he hadn't. _Shit_, he thought to himself; aloud, he grunted in dissent.

He felt, rather than saw, her nod. "I know. It's ok though; I did."

At his raised eyebrows, she gave a sarcastic smile. "It's happened before; I have no idea why you're always so shocked. She likes me well enough, just as I somewhat enjoy her presence. We're very alike, Faith and I." Here she chuckled bitterly, and then continued. "She was a little worried that you didn't visit, but understands that you are a busy, busy fighter of all that is evil. She made something for you. Apparently, the prison wardens have been pretty lenient about which crafts material she gets to use now. She wrote it- some kind of a story, I guess."

The woman produced a small stack of papers from her coat, bound together by staples. She handed it to him, and he took it, peering at in the darkness. He couldn't make out words, so he put it in his own pocket.

Needing to change the subject, he asked, "How's work?"

She laughed again, still bitter. "Evil, as always. We sacrificed some puppies today; cocker spaniels, I think."

"Ah. Um. Was that…fun?"

She gave him a withering look. Silence settled once again. He knew what was coming; it was the worst part of this ritual. He knew it was her intention; to make him suffer, just as she had promised, four years ago. To make him suffer as much as she suffered.

And here it came. She turned her face towards him, quiet tears streaming down her cheeks. "Are you happy now, Angel? Are you happy you took that all away from me? Was it even worth it?"

He thought about it, as he always did, over the sounds of Connor giggling as Fred and Gunn swung him back and forth. He used to be certain that anything was worth his son's life. Now he wasn't so sure. Yes, he had saved Connor, and countless others, but he had lost so many as well. Faith was still in prison, and was still waiting to see if she would get the death penalty, or life imprisonment. Buffy and every single person with her died in the Sunnydale collapse two and a half years ago.

And Wesley… Wesley was dead as well. But he hadn't been killed by some nasty demon or evil human; he had died by Angel's own hand. That had been Wolfram and Hart's price- Wesley Wyndham-Price's head on a platter, delivered by Angel himself. Never, for the rest of his cursed life, would he get the image of Wesley's face during his final moments out of his head. He hadn't looked up at Angel, holding the axe, with terror or confusion; his face held acceptance, as if he always knew that Angel would murder him in cold blood. But overpowering that acceptance was clear hurt; even after his head had rolled from his body, the sense of betrayal was etched on to his colorless face.

The others assured him that, though it was awful, it was for the best. They had found notes suggesting that the former watcher was going to hand over Connor to Holtz, and that was unacceptable. They told him he was just doing what a good father should do; protect his young. But he knew better. And so did _she_.

Had it been worth it? He abruptly turned and walked away from Lilah, who was sobbing openly on Wesley's headstone, her tears cleaning the grimy surface.

He didn't answer. He couldn't.


End file.
